


Looking for Lily

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Mystery, Short, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7301842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1980, and a lot of people are looking for Lily Potter, nee Evans. Who will be the first to find her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Lily

**Looking for Lily**

**Postscript: Cokeworth**

A wild westerly wind was gusting though the narrow ginnels which ran at right angles to the terraced street. In the slate grey sky above, dark clouds were relieving themselves of their heavy load. Fat drops of rain bounced off the cobbles and joined forces with the blustering wind in an early attempt to batter the weakest of the leaves from their trees.

It was only late August, and this particular storm would soon pass. In the distant west the sun still shone, but the seasons were changing, and there would be more storms to weather.

The black-clad young man who strode along the street was heedless of the deluge that had plastered his lank black hair to his skull. The street, Spinner’s End, was almost deserted; the few people who’d been caught out in the downpour were much too busy seeking shelter to pay any attention to the man in the wind-whipped cloak as he marched down the cobbles.

When he reached the undergrowth at the bottom of the street, the end nearest to the river, the sallow-faced man left the grimy terraces behind. He pushed his way through the narrow gap into the thick vegetation along the riverbank. The leaves rustled wetly, and his hasty movement through the trees tipped even more water onto him. For an instant he wondered why the trees were so low, and the track so narrow. The problem wasn’t the track, or the trees; they hadn’t shrunk, he had grown. He hadn’t made the trip to the park since he was in his early teens.

Five minutes later he reached the litter-strewn bank of the oily river, and soon he was at the pipe. He had no idea what flowed through the rusting pipe which erupted from the steeply sloping riverbank, crossed the water, and buried itself back into the opposite bank. Was it gas, water, or sewage? It didn’t matter; the only thing that mattered was that the once black-painted metal cylinder was the quickest way to cross the water. It was the shortest route to the park. Sliding past the inadequate barrier of spikes, which had always failed to stop him from crossing, he left his part of town behind and strode across to the opposite bank.

He had been so young the first time he’d crossed the pipe. His intention had simply been to avoid his squabbling parents; it had been the merest chance that he’d seen her, a happenstance that had changed his life forever. The opposite bank of the river had been out of bounds to him. It was where the posh people lived. The park on the opposite bank, _her_ park, was a place where the swings weren’t broken and the benches weren’t covered in graffiti. The derelict mill and the grim terraced streets where he lived were still visible across the river, but the opposite bank was a different world. It was so far away from Spinner’s End that he could forget about his home life for a while.

After a scramble up the embankment, he finally arrived at the edge of the park. The swings were still there, though the place was rather more run down than he remembered it. Because of the rain, the park was deserted. Walking over to the swings, he tipped the water from one of the seats, dried it, and sat.

Had anyone been watching, they’d have assumed that the oddly-dressed man was looking out over the park. In fact, he was looking back into the past; he was staring at sunnier, happier, days. The incessant rain trickled down his face, as did the few tears he allowed himself. They were lost in the raindrops. No one saw them, but then no one had ever seen his tears.

His heart would never heal, he knew that, just as he knew that it was a self-inflicted injury. He could blame no one but himself. His hatred had got him into this predicament, and his ambition had condemned her. He’d saved her this time. But the Dark Lord wouldn’t stop looking. He knew that. More than anything else, he wanted to keep her safe, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help, and he was certain that he knew someone who would. Could he really turn to the old man? As he stared into the memory of warm summer sunshine, he tried to decide what to do, and the last, angry, words she’d ever spoken to him filled his mind.

‘Pureblood, Halfblood or Mudblood, we all have red blood, Sev! You should remember that before you and your nasty little friends judge us.’

Severus Snape made his decision. He would do it. He would go to Hogwarts, he would speak to the old man, beg the opposite side for help. What else could he do?

* * *

**Glaven House, Cley next the Sea, Norfolk**

Breakfast over, she stood in the bay window and stared out through the small, green-tinged, diamond-shaped panes. Despite several years of marriage, she had not yet grown accustomed to the view from her sitting room window. Even in the late summer sunshine, Cley marshes looked as harsh and desolate. The seemingly endless salt marshes stretched out into the distance. The sea lay somewhere in the distance, beyond the vast expanse of boggy wetlands; it was invisible, hidden by tall reeds.

While Glaven House was magically hidden from the filthy Muggles who inhabited Cley next the Sea, the opposite wasn’t true. A few of the rooftops of the Muggle village were visible over the marshes. Fortunately, the pathetic vermin couldn’t even find Strangewitch Lane, the narrow track which led to the old Jacobean manor house that overlooked the River Glaven. As she took in the view from the ancient home of the Lestranges, Bellatrix watched the distant reeds ripple in the wind, and sighed.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ her husband asked.

‘It’s bleak and wild,’ she said brusquely, turning from the window to face him. She was in time to see the final remnants of a smile flee his face.

‘Some of us can find beauty in the bleak and wild, Bella,’ he said. ‘You should be grateful for that.’

She suspected that his words were an attempt at a compliment, but she flicked them away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

‘How are we to accomplish this task with our hands tied?’ she asked petulantly. ‘I’m certain that torturing a few Muggles would give us the information we require, but the Dark Lord won’t allow us to use the Cruciatus Curse.’

‘Our Master is being prudent,’ said Rodolphus pragmatically. ‘We are close to victory, Bella, but our progress is uneven. We have suffered setbacks. Rosier and Wilkes are dead; Karkaroff and Dolohov are in Azkaban. At this time the Dark Lord requires subtlety, not brute force. We must move carefully. The Ministry are fighting back. Have you heard the rumours about our task, the rumours of a prophecy told to our master by that boy, young Mulciber’s friend? Prophecies are dangerous things, Bella. I don’t think our Master realises how dangerous they can be.’

‘How dare you!’ Bellatrix turned on her husband. ‘Of course he knows! He has a plan, he always has a plan. He has given us a job to do, and we will do it.’

‘I was at your side when he gave us this task,’ Rodolphus reminded her. ‘But we must be subtle. He has entrusted this task to the three of us, to you, me, and Lucius, and no one else. He wants a quiet, discreet, search, and that’s what we must do. Besides, even if the Dark Lord had allowed us to torture their relatives, I believe that there are none left to torture.’

‘The Mudblood has a sister.’

‘A sister who didn’t attend her wedding, a sister she doesn’t speak to. How could we find this sister, this Petunia? Where would we look? She is married; but we don’t know the name of her husband,’ said Rodolphus carefully. ‘Even if we did, it’s likely that she has any useful information to give us. We may fail, but our mission may not matter. I hear rumours that our master is close to turning one of the Order. Soon, our enemies may have a traitor in their midst.’

‘I want to be the one to bring the foul Mudblood and her vile offspring to him, not some mealy-mouthed traitor,’ Bellatrix said. ‘It will prove our loyalty, prove our skill.’

‘The Snape boy may have some information. We should speak to him.’

‘Snape is a Half-blood,’ Bellatrix spat. ‘His mother married a filthy Muggle. And look where it got her, an early grave at her husband’s hand!’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘We know nothing, that’s the problem,’ Bellatrix snapped. ‘Whatever he told our Master, whether it was this rumoured prophecy, or something else, we don’t know. I don’t trust the Snape boy. He is full of secrets and lies, I’m certain of it.’

‘What do you know of the Mudblood?’

‘Only what you know, what Snape has told us: she was once called Evans, she has ensnared the last of the once-proud Potters and polluted their blood forever.’

‘What about her friends?’ Rodolphus asked.

‘Gryffindors, every last one of them,’ she said. ‘There’s Potter, my stinking blood-traitor cousin, and a couple of other boys.’

‘The boys are Potter’s friends. The girl must have had some female friends at school, Bella,’ Rodolphus suggested. ‘Perhaps she keeps in contact with them. We could ask the Snape boy.’

‘No, not Snape, I don’t trust him,’ said Bellatrix firmly. ‘We’ll ask one of his friends, one of the two who brought him into the fold. Let’s go and pay a visit to Hephaestus Mulciber, and while we’re there we can ask Mulciber’s son about the Evans girl and her friends.’

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Broughton Deverill, Wiltshire**

‘Why?’ Narcissa asked.

‘He hasn’t told me,’ Lucius admitted. ‘He hasn’t told anyone, my love. There are whispers of a prophecy, of a child, but I didn’t ask. I suggested that Rodolphus and Bellatrix come here tomorrow, and that we plan our next move together. The Dark Lord asked all three of us to find the girl. But your sister refused my offer. She wants to be the one to get all of the glory.’

‘She always does, Lucius,’ she snapped. ‘And your Dark Lord never tells you the whole truth. I don’t think he really trusts anyone, not even you! When the Mark burns, you abandon me and run off to do his bidding, Lucius. He tells you the what, but never the why! Why does he want to find the Potters? One of my Aunts married a Potter, they’re Purebloods. Why this fixation on that family? Do you have any idea? And what does the Snape boy know about this? Have you asked him?’

‘Calm down, Cissie, you’re upsetting the baby,’ Lucius hissed. ‘He’ll start to blubber again if you’re not…’ He was too late, the baby in his wife’s arms wailed.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Narcissa, her exhaustion showing itself as anger. ‘He was almost asleep, and then you arrive back at one in the morning with another foolish, and possibly dangerous, mission from your Dark Lord! You don’t do anything for our child, but drop everything for _him_.’

‘Cissie!’ Lucius Malfoy looked around the nursery as if worried that the Dark Lord was hiding in the shadows. ‘You’re tired, and so am I. We’ve had too many late nights with too little sleep. Let me take him. Perhaps I can get him to settle.’

‘You left me with a crying baby, at midnight, with no idea when, or if, you’d be back. I needed you—we both needed you—then, not now!’ Narcissa spat. ‘Little Draco isn’t even four months old yet. The house elves can only do so much, you know, I have to feed him, and you’re never here!’

‘It will all be worth it when we win,’ Lucius assured her. Reaching down, he lifted his son from his wife’s arms. As Lucius began to rock his heir, the noise coming from Draco rose to an eardrum shattering crescendo. The bald little baby’s usually pale face turned beetroot as he opened his mouth and screamed. ‘You are a Malfoy,’ Lucius told his son firmly. ‘This is most unbecoming behaviour. In reply, Draco squirmed, regurgitated his last meal all over his father, and fell quiet.

‘You have vomit on your robes.’ Narcissa sounded almost gleeful. ‘But at least you’ve settled him.

Lucius tried to keep his temper in check, but failed. ‘When will he learn control?’ he asked, placing his softly burbling son into his cot. ‘And where is Dobby?’

The house elf appeared instantly ‘Master?’

‘Clean these robes, clean up this child, and keep him quiet,’ Lucius ordered, shrugging off his robes. ‘I’m going to bed.’

He strode from the nursery, his wife following silently behind.

Once in bed they lay in silence, not even touching each other. Narcissa soon fell asleep, but Lucius was lost in his plans. Unable to sleep, he stared up at the green velvet canopy over the bed, and wondered how he could find Potter and his wife. When he finally drifted into slumber the question remained unresolved.

To Lucius’ relief, his son slept for more than five hours. When the child woke, he was obviously hungry, so Lucius remained in bed while his wife went off to feed the boy.

Over a late breakfast Lucius silently pondered his mission. He needed to come up with a strategy, a way to find Lily Potter and her child, but how? Equally as important, he needed to find out what Bellatrix was doing. Status was everything; he had to impress the Dark Lord.

After breakfast Lucius went into his study, closed the door, and considered his options. He couldn’t use his usual contacts in the magical world; they would have no more idea how to find a Mudblood than he did. Of course, he realised, he didn’t need to find the girl first; he simply had to ensure that he arrived at the same time as Rodolphus and Bellatrix. He knew that he would never be able to wheedle secrets from Bellatrix, but his wife could. Striding out from the study, he crossed the echoing entry hall, and climbed up the imposing staircase to the bedrooms. Turning right, he headed for the nursery, and listened at the door.

‘Ah-bababababa,’ his wife trilled. ‘Do you want to play with the ball, Draco? Then you shall.’

Lucius opened the door as quietly as he could, but an ancient floorboard creaked.

‘Here is your daddy, he’s come to see us,’ said Narcissa.

_Father_ , Lucius thought to himself, _I am his father, not his “daddy.”_ He did not, however, voice his disapproval. ‘Cissie, my dear,’ he began. ‘I think that we should invite your sister and her husband to dinner next weekend.’

‘I thought you told me that you’d never let that oafish Mudblood into this manor,’ Cissie said sweetly.

Realising that his wife still hadn’t forgiven him, Lucius didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he called her bluff. His laugh was a sarcastic bark. ‘I was talking about Bellatrix,’ he said. ‘But if you desire it, my dear, we can invite Andromeda and her pet. But that must wait until another day; once I’m satisfied that he’s been house-trained.’

Narcissa laughed. ‘As you wish,’ she said. ‘It will have to be Sunday, Lucius. Don’t forget that we’ve been invited to Garr Hall on Saturday. The Goyles want to show off their firstborn. We really must find a suitable present for them. You know them better than I. What do you suggest?’

‘Something large, heavy, and preferably indestructible,’ he suggested. ‘The Goyles are famous for their destructive physical presence, not their brain power. Have I told you of the time Graeme Goyle was dared to break into the Ravenclaw Common Room? He asked me how to get past the riddle. I told him it changes constantly, and he’d have to use his head to get in.’

‘So he head-butted the painting, and knocked himself out. It took you ten minutes to resuscitate him, and when you did, you told him “I didn't mean you should literally use your head!” and he said “What does literally mean?” It’s a story you’ve told me several times,’ she said wearily. ‘I really don’t know why you put up with the Goyles, Lucius. Their conversation is hardly scintillating, and their manners are worse.’

‘True, but they _are_ useful allies. And I’d rather stand alongside them than face them,’ he admitted.

‘Master,’ Malfoy’s house elf, Dobby, appeared next to Lucius, and bowed low. ‘Mr Hephaestus Mulciber has arrived unannounced!’ The elf quivered apprehensively. ‘I have put him in the study. But ... sir! He has told Dobby that he will be being invited for lunch, and he will be drinking a bottle of the thirty-year-old Jerez!’

‘The bare-faced cheek of the man!’ exclaimed Narcissa. ‘He can’t simply arrive at our door and demand…’

‘It isn’t a demand, Cissie, not exactly,’ Lucius told her, smiling smugly. ‘This is the difference between the Goyle approach to problem solving, and the Malfoy method. Several months ago I outbid old Hephaestus on five crates of the finest elf-made Jerez from Spain, a thirty-year-old Pasada. He wasn’t happy, so I let him know that, if he ever had any useful information for me, I would share a bottle with him.’ He turned to the house elf. ‘Take Mr Mulciber to my study, Dobby, and decant a bottle of the Pasada. Take care not to cork it, or else...’

oooooOOOOOooooo

‘More treacle tart, Bella?’ asked Narcissa.

‘No, thank you,’ the dark-haired witch said. ‘Excellent meal,’ she added grudgingly.

‘I’ll have some,’ Rodolphus said. ‘It’s very good, almost like Hogwarts.’

‘Thank you.’ Narcissa nodded to Dobby, and the house elf levitated another slice onto her brother-in-law’s plate.

‘More wine?’ asked Lucius. ‘We should finish the bottle.’

‘Excellent idea,’ said Rodolphus between mouthfuls.

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ said Bellatrix firmly.

Her husband ignored her and, at Lucius’ signal, Dobby emptied the bottle into Rodolphus’ glass.

‘We should do this more often, Bella,’ said Narcissa. ‘We should invite mother, too, and catch up on the family news.’

‘Hmm,’ Bellatrix murmured noncommittally.

‘I have good news, Bella,’ Lucius announced. ‘I have discovered the address of the Potter girl’s best friend at school. She’s a Mudblood called Mary…’

‘MacDonald!’ Bellatrix snapped. ‘How did you know? And how did you find her?’

‘I have my methods,’ said Lucius smugly.

‘We’ve spent days trying to work out how to find the girl,’ admitted Rodolphus cheerfully, taking another swig of wine and failing to notice his wife’s angry glare. ‘But finding one Mudblood! It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’ He looked around the table and chortled to himself. ‘No, it’s worse. It’s like looking for one particular strand of hay in a haystack! Those Mudbloods, they all look the same to me.’ He laughed heartily at his own joke.

‘Oh, shut up, Rodolphus,’ Bellatrix snapped. ‘Answer my questions, Lucius. How did you know? And how did you find her?’

‘I have contacts in the Ministry,’ said Lucius. ‘Accessing the files of the Improper Use of Magic Office was a simple task. Making sense of the address was much more difficult.’

‘Have you told the Dark Lord?’ Bellatrix asked.

‘Of course not,’ Lucius replied. ‘I have no desire to disappoint him. After all, this may come to nothing. All I have is the location of the parents this Mary MacDonald. They may not be there, and even if they are, she may not be.’

‘They’ll soon tell us where she is,’ said Bellatrix eagerly. ‘Where are they, when do we leave?’

‘There’s no rush, Bellatrix,’ said Lucius calmly. ‘We’ll go tomorrow.’

* * *

**Na Hearadh, Na h-Eileanan Siar**

‘They’re looking for the loathsome Lily!’ Philus Mulciber threw his head back and cackled gleefully.

‘Who?’ Snape’s voice was carefully neutral.

‘Bellatrix and her husband. They paid my father a visit a few days ago, Severus,’ he said. ‘Bellatrix is on a mission. The Dark lord has ordered her, Rodolphus, and Malfoy, to find Potter’s Mudblood bitch. Ever since our master called her “my most devoted” Bellatrix has been determined to prove it. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s married, I’d have thought that she fancies him.’

‘Get to the point, Philus,’ said Snape, trying to hide the desperation he felt. ‘Why did they visit your father?’

‘As I said, they’re looking for Lily,’ Philus continued. ‘Bellatrix wouldn’t tell father why. But you probably know, Sev. I bet it’s something to do with this prophecy you told the Dark Lord about? Was the prophecy all about a red-headed Mudblood?’

‘I told Lord Voldemort something I overheard, and he told me that I was not to discuss it with anyone else,’ said Snape softly. Although he managed to keep his voice cold and calculating, a volcano was erupting in his innards. ‘I haven’t and I won’t. I’ve no idea where this prophecy rumour started and, if you have any sense, you shouldn’t spread it.’ He paused, affecting a disinterested expression. ‘But I don’t understand. Why would Bellatrix visit you?’

‘She wanted to know who the red Lily’s friends were,’ Philus explained. ‘So I told her.’

Snape shrugged in apparent indifference, but continued to carefully probe his former schoolmate. ‘That’s easy; Potter and his gang, but she’ll never find them.’

‘You’re forgetting someone,’ as Philus gloated, he lustfully licked his lips. That was enough of a clue for Severus.

‘Oh, yes,’ Snape said feigning disinterest. ‘There was that pathetic Mudblood friend of hers, the one you were so fixated on, Mary MacDonald. Whatever happened to her?’

Philus Mulciber shrugged. ‘Who knows? I haven’t given the stupid little slut a thought since she left school.’

‘It’s none of our concern,’ said Severus. ‘You should not have told me, Philus, our master likes to keep his secrets. Now, why did you really come to visit?’

Philus Mulciber grinned, and told his former classmate.

‘I swear that you must eat powdered Bicorn Horn, Philus. I don’t mind you borrowing ingredients from me, but why is it always the most expensive ones? Perhaps I should start charging you.’

After another hour of tedious chat, Severus finally managed to close his front door on his oafish old school friend. Leaning against the door, he slid down to the floor, put his head in his hands, and stifled a sob. The Dark Lord was looking for Lily, and it was his fault!

Severus was confident that Philus Mulciber didn’t know the importance of what he’d let slip during their conversation. Rodolphus, Bellatrix and Lucius had now been looking for Mary MacDonald for three days. If they’d found her…

But they hadn’t or, if they had, she hadn’t known where Lily was. If anything had happened to Lily and her baby, the Dark Lord would already have announced his triumph. If anything happened to Lily, he reminded himself, it would be his fault. He had betrayed his first true friend. His foolish desire to please the Dark Lord had, it seemed, marked beautiful, clever Lily for death.

He had to find Mary, and he had to do it before the trio to whom the Dark Lord had entrusted the task found her. He began to search his memory.

At midnight, after several fruitless hours, he decided to sleep. Logic dictated that he needed rest. Every second might count; but, equally, it might not. What were the chances of three Muggle-hating Purebloods being able to find a Mudblood? He had no way of knowing. Sighing, Severus climbed the narrow stairs and tried to sleep.

When he woke the following morning, he knew! Unfortunately, the moment he awoke, his memory dissipated like morning mist in the dawn sun; he was left trying to chase the last few wispy tendrils of recollection. He’d been close, he was certain of that, but it had gone.

He tried to rediscover the memory. He’d been dreaming of happier times, of Hogwarts. The vital memory was an old one; it was from his first year! Forgetting about breakfast, he dashed into the bathroom, stared at himself in the mirror, and wondered if it was possible to use Occlumency on himself.

Realising that it was simply a matter of discipline, not Occlumency, Severus stared into the mirror. He gazed into his own dark eyes until the memory sparked. At first that was all it was, a faintly flickering light, the merest will-o-the-wisp of a memory, but it was enough. Heedless of the consequences, he followed the dim light into the centre of the swamp of his recollection; he went back to the beginnings of his doom.

_It was the first weekend of term, and the two eleven-year-old girls were sitting by the lake. One was dark-haired; the other’s hair was a vibrant auburn red. They were talking, so he crept forwards, trying to overhear._

_‘I can’t believe how long the days are,’ Lily said._

_‘That’s ‘cause ye’re English,’ the girl observed. ‘Ye’ll get used to it.’_

_‘Whereabouts in Scotland are you from, Mary?’_

_‘Na h-Eileanan Siar,’ the dark haired girl said. She laughed at Lily’s expression._

_‘What?’ Lily spluttered. ‘Where’s that? Nah Eelaneen Syar? I can’t even say it!’_

_‘It’s the Gaelic name,’ Mary explained. ‘Have you heard of the Outer Hebrides?’_

_‘Of course,’ said Lily, smiling. ‘Why didn’t you just say that?’_

_‘When I was wee, my Ma and Da taught me Gaelic, I thought I’d see what your reaction was,’ said Mary, chuckling. ‘We live on Na Hearadh, that’s Harris to you, no’ say far fram Loch Langabhat. My Da put Na Hearadh, Na h-Eileanan Siar on the address forms for Hogwarts.’_

_‘Lock Langavat,’ Lily repeated._

_‘Loch,’ Mary corrected. ‘Why can’t the English say Loch? Where are you from?_

_‘Cokeworth,’ she said. ‘It’s in Lancashire. Sev’s from there, too. Aren’t you, Sev?’_

_Wondering how she’d known he was there, he rose from the bushes and revealed himself._

_‘Skulking in bushes, eavesdropping, that’s a bit creepy,’ observed Mary scornfully. ‘I don’t think I like you, Sev.’_

Within minutes, Severus Snape was standing on a rock overlooking a dark loch. Rough patches of heather moorland clung precariously to the rocky landscape. There was only one small cottage in sight, it lay some distance from the narrow blacktop road, and was accessed via a rough stone track. With walls built from the local stone and a steeply pitched slate roof to shed the inevitable winter snow, the cottage sat close to the shoreline on the leeward side of the loch. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and a battered old green Land Rover was parked outside.

Apparating closer, Snape marched towards the property. He had almost reached the Land Rover when the door opened. The man in the entrance wore a thick and rather grubby waxed-cotton jacket, and he carried a shotgun loosely under his arm.

‘Nae closer! What d’ye want?’ the man yelled.

‘I’m looking for Mary Macdonald,’ Snape admitted.

‘Are ye now?’ the man asked suspiciously. He raised the shotgun, but there was sadness, not anger in his eyes. ‘And who, exactly, wed ye be?’

‘I’m… I’m a friend of Lily Evans.’ Severus surprised himself by answering honestly.

‘Why should I believe ye?’ the man asked.

‘Why would I lie?’ Snape asked. As he spoke, he wondered at the question he’d just asked. Lying was second nature to him, he lied to everyone. He had often lied to Lily—I don’t care—that was the biggest lie. That was the lie he routinely told himself, too.

‘How did ye find this place?’ the man demanded.

‘In our first year Mary told Lily—and me—where she lived. I remembered,’ Snape said, assuring himself that he still hadn’t lied, not really.

‘Lily Evans,’ the man said thoughtfully. ‘She was a guid lass. Friend of yours, is she?’

‘My best friend,’ Severus said. _My only friend_ , he thought.

‘Well, ye’d best come inside, then,’ the man said, stepping aside and placing the shotgun just inside the doorway. ‘I’m Archie MacDonald.’

‘Sirius Black,’ Severus slipped into the lie as he introduced himself.

He realised his mistake instantly. Archie reached for his shotgun, but Snape was faster.

‘Protego!’ he shouted. His Shield Charm pushed the man backwards, away from the gun and into the house. ‘Accio,’ he added. The shotgun flew into his hand. He caught it, and threw it backwards into the loch. It landed on the shoreline, and there was a bang as the gun went off. Severus hoped that there were no Merpeople in the lake, things were already complicated enough. There were, he knew Merpeople in several of the larger lochs, particularly in Loch Ness. The last thing he wanted was any magical witnesses to his presence.

‘Mary told her ma that she fancied Sirius Black,’ the man yelled angrily as he scrambled to his feet and pounded against Severus’ shield. ‘She said he was one o’ the best looking boys in the school.’ Archie glared. ‘Whoever ye are, ye black eyed crow, ye’re no’ Sirius Black! Ha’ ye come to make me disappear, like my Mary?’

‘Mary’s gone?’ Severus’ heart stopped. ‘Who took her? When?’

‘What makes ye think someone took her?’ the man asked. Suddenly, he was anxious not angry. ‘When she came back from that damn school o’ yours, she wasnea oor Mary, no’ really. She was broken. She had nightmares aboot…’ The man took a step forwards and clenched his fists. ‘Aboot a lad named Philus Mulciber, tell me ye’re Mulciber, an’ I’ll kill ye with ma bare hands.’ The man stopped and stared. His anger abated as rapidly as it had flared. ‘But ye’re no’ are ye? She said he was a guid-looking lad, too. But it turned out that his heart was hard and cold as stone.’

‘No, I’m not Mulciber,’ Severus said, removing his shield spell. Once again, he found an overwhelming need for honesty. ‘But I know that he was cruel to Mary. Mulciber was my friend. But so was Lily. She and I fell out over what Mulciber did.’ Severus stopped, and faced another hard truth. ‘I defended Mulciber, but Lily was right, and I was wrong, and now it’s too late.’ To his surprise, Severus felt himself losing control. ‘I’m sorry, Mr MacDonald. What… what happened to M… Mary?’ He stammered nervously, and cursed himself for this sudden inability to restrain his emotions.

‘She left us and went tae London, almost straight frae school. Moved into a bedsit wi’ a load o’ them punk rockers, and then she vanished. We went looking, but all we found was an empty room and a broken wand.’

‘Hers?’ Snape asked.

Mary’s father nodded. ‘Sorry aboot the gun, son. I didnae think it was loaded,’ he said ‘I’ll show ye the wand. Maybe ye can find her for me. Come in.’

Severus Snape opened the biscuit box which Archie offered him. At the top was the broken wand, which he recognised as Mary’s. Beneath it was a photograph of a smiling quartet; Mary and Lily, Potter and Black. Next came a grainy and immobile photograph of Mary with the word “Missing” printed above it. Below the image were the words “Mary Macdonald: Have you seen this girl?” and a telephone number. Under the photocopied poster was an official looking letter from some organisation called the “Metropolitan Police” which carefully explained that Mary was over sixteen and, without any evidence of foul play, they could not investigate her disappearance. As he placed the letter to one side, he saw the remaining items. There were several unopened envelopes, all addressed to Mary, and all in the unmistakeable hand of Lily. He tore the first letter open.

‘Oi!’ Mary’s father protested. He lunged angrily at Severus, who Stunned him and began to read. He read them all.

Lily’s letters were gossipy and friendly and, as he read them, Snape could hear Lily’s voice in his head. They included an invitation to Lily’s wedding. The last letter, which he could hardly focus on because his hands were trembling so much, was dated mere weeks ago. It announced the birth of her son, Harry James Potter. That news was bad enough, but worse than that, it contained a return address. Lily was living in Godric’s Hollow!

It appeared that Mary’s father was telling the truth. From the dates on the letters, Archie Macdonald hadn’t seen his daughter since she’d left school. If Mary’s wand was broken, she had vanished into the Muggle world, and her own parents couldn’t find her, there was no chance of anyone finding the girl. Even if they did, Lily’s letters to her friend had not been opened. Mary didn’t know where Lily was. Severus dismissed her as no longer important.

Stuffing the letters and envelopes into his pocket, Severus revived Mary’s father, and placed him in a Full Body Bind. ‘Are there any more letters from Lily in the house?’ he demanded.

‘Awa’ an’ bile yer heid,’ the man said defiantly. He began to swear, so Severus locked his jaw, preventing him from speaking.

Using Legilimency, Severus bored into the Muggle’s anger filled eyes, searching for anything which might lead the Dark Lord to Lily. There was nothing. The man’s single minded search for his missing daughter had even driven away his wife. Scowling, Severus wondered what he should do with the man. He had no idea when, or even if, Rodolphus, Bellatrix, and Lucius would find this remote farm, but he could take no chances.

Summoning the man’s shotgun from the lakeshore, he looked dispassionately down into the man’s fear-filled eyes. Drying the weapon, he replaced it at the door, and then put the broken wand and the photographs into the biscuit box, replacing it exactly where he’d found it.

The memory charm he used was complex, but he was certain that it would work. As the man’s eyes glazed, Severus Disapparated.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Archie Macdonald pulled his Land Rover to a halt in front of the brown-rendered semi-detached house in Lerwick. For the umpteenth time he wondered why he’d thrown the coroner’s letter into the fire; and why he couldn’t remember the postman delivering it. It didn’t matter, his little Mary was dead, and now he had to tell her mother the dreadful news. He hoped that he could reconcile himself with his wife, as the idea of returning to the little cottage by Loch Langabhat was impossible. The very thought of the place filled him with dread.

oooooOOOOOooooo

‘Vanished!’ Bellatrix bellowed angrily, snatching the box from Lucius and examining the broken wand. ‘Useless, filthy, Mudblood scum; she’s gone!’

‘We can check the wand, make certain that it’s hers,’ Lucius observed. ‘And we can try to track down her parents.’

‘We have failed!’ snapped Bellatrix. ‘This is your fault, Lucius.’

* * *

**Spinners End**

Placing the silver bowl onto his potions table, Severus carefully tore up every piece of Lily’s correspondence and placed the scraps of letters and envelopes into it. He drew his wand.

‘ _Incendio,_ ’ he said. The paper burst into flames, and he watched the writing vanish. Waiting until the paper had all burned into unreadable ash, and the last glimmer of red had died, he emptied the fragments into a stone mortar, picked up the pestle, and ground the ashy remnants to dust. Emptying the dust onto the table, he Vanished it, and then Scourgified the silver bowl, the mortar, and the pestle.

No clues remained to Lily’s whereabouts at the Macdonald residence, but Severus knew that the Dark Lord would not stop looking. He needed to save her, he needed to think, and he needed to get out of his oppressive house to do it. Unseasonal rain ran down the windows. Pulling on his cloak, Severus stepped out into the street. He would go to the park, to _their_ park; because, after these events, he needed to decide which side he was really on.


End file.
